


Keep Moving Forward

by LordOfThePoptarts



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Gore, Child Death, Flashbacks, Gore, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordOfThePoptarts/pseuds/LordOfThePoptarts
Summary: Angela was good at letting go of the past, but the past just didn't seem to want to let go of herMy piece for the Let Mercy Say Fuck Zine
Kudos: 6





	Keep Moving Forward

Angela stuttered to a stop as she made it behind the building. In front of her was a mass of civilians she was leading to the evac point. Somewhere in the group a child was crying. All eyes were on her.

The group parted, used to the routine they’d kept for 5 tense blocks now. Angela scouted ahead, came back and reported hazards, and then brought up the rear. They were incredibly close to the evac point, but she couldn’t get complacent. She peered around the corner, doing her best to spot any immediate signs of danger. She gestured for the group to move forward, falling back and running behind them as they sprinted across the open area. 

She moved quickly to the front of the group again, but a growing murmur of disquiet bubbled up around her.

“Angel!” A woman cried out, and the group shifted around her. Angela whipped around and found the distraught woman struggling against several people, all attempting to quiet her. Angela followed the woman’s line of sight. There was a child lying in the middle of the street they had just run across.

Angela started running.

The crowd that had once parted without prompting was now thick and distracted. She pushed through the mass. Someone grunted as she roughly shoved them aside. She was focused on the child. 

The girl, Angel, couldn’t have been more than five. She was struggling to push herself up, seemingly dazed. She was blessedly silent. Her mother’s cries had gone silent as well, stifled by the group. Silence was good. Silence meant safety.

Angel finally managed to push herself to a standing position, tottering slightly. Angela was at the street now. She paused at the edge of the building, so briefly it looked more like hesitation than an actual attempt to scout.

Then, she was in the open.

Her feet pounded against the pavement, sounding far too loud even if it was in her head. Angel smiled as she saw Angela running towards her; hope filled her eyes. Angela couldn’t help the sense of relief that filled her chest. 

That is, of course, when the shot rang out.

Angel’s smile was there one moment and gone the next. The entrance wound was neat, insultingly small given the gravity of what it had just taken. The right half of her face was frozen in that smile that had filled Angela with such hope seconds ago. The left half…was destroyed. Clumps of tangled hair, brain matter, skull fragments, and blood mixed on the pavement. Her lower jaw hung grotesquely askew, completely unhinged. Her cheek was blown outward, almost like someone had crushed an overripe tomato or burst open a pomegranate, but Angela knew, always knew, that was never the case.

_ Mercy. _ She couldn’t be Angela, not now, not when she wanted nothing more than to stop and scream and help, but the body was already still, already beyond saving. The sniper was still out there;  _ her _ life was still in danger. She grabbed Angel’s hand, limp but still warm; she could’ve been asleep if not for her ruined face. She threw Angel over her shoulder and ran.

She moved forward, Angel’s corpse thumping against her back in a steady rhythm. She ran in an unpredictable pattern, still trying to make the quickest route to the building, to safety. Ahead of her, she saw Angel’s mother. Anguished, she fought the many hands preventing her from meeting the same fate as her daughter. Mercy watched it happen in slow motion. Angel’s mother broke free. She saw her mouth open, could’ve sworn she felt the air ripple with the force of the scream.

“Angel!” The anguished cry echoed like the gunshot that took her daughter. 

The scream didn't faze Mercy. She'd been doing this job for far too long to to be shaken by something so familiar. Somewhere though, in the back of her mind,  _ she _ was Angel—not the little girl on her shoulder, but her own parents’ little girl. She shoved the memory far and away. It continued to play like a movie in another room, muffled but recognizable after seeing it countless times. 

_ Her hometown burning to ashes. Hiding in the thicket behind her house, her arms burnt and stinging. Her parents yelling for her, saying it was safe, saying she could come out. Crawling through the brambles, towards them, smiling. Her parents’ faces alight with the same smiles. Gunshots. Their limp bodies hitting the pavement. The omnics crushing her parents underfoot. Overwatch pulling her from the brambles. _

The memory stuttered and died. It didn’t bother her, not when she was working. She focused on the steady pounding of her feet on the pavement, the steady thump of Angel’s corpse, the quickly closing distance between herself and the building, how this was all only taking seconds but felt like eons. 

Another shot rang out. 

She felt it ruffle her hair and hissed as it broke the skin of her scalp. Blood dripped down her face, sticky and uncomfortable. She’d have time to check the damage later; getting to cover was her first priority. She barely made it behind the building when she saw another bullet crack into the ground where she had been an instant before. 

“I need an immediate hellfire airstrike! Mercy pinned down with civilians, one already KIA. Three-story building approximately ninety meters directly north of my transponder location. At this time sniper’s location in the building is unknown, can you bring it down?” Mercy spoke quickly but succinctly into her comm, looking at the rooftops above them. Angel’s body was cooling against her shoulder.

“This is Pharah. I have eyes on a three-story building approximately ninety meters from your transponder location. I’m coming around to make an east-west run on the building; confirm hellfire strike.”

“Confirmed.” Mercy let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Coming in weapons hot, ETA thirty seconds.” Mercy heard the whir of the helicopter rotors, knowing the unmistakable sound of missiles was soon to follow. She turned to the group of shell-shocked civilians.

“Everybody get against the wall! There is an airstrike inbound!” She pushed a few of the more dazed civilians, shoving them against the wall. Angel’s mother was still collapsed on the pavement in the alley, sobbing into her hands and groaning. Mercy grabbed her and roughly hauled her to her feet, plastering the two of them against the wall just as she heard the shriek of missiles. Everything shook, and the noise echoed through the already destroyed city. Some civilians cowered to the ground and covered their ears against the noise; their screams were drowned out by the bellow of the building housing the sniper breaking apart. 

“Confirmed sniper down.” Pharah’s voice filtered through the comm system. Mercy’s ears were ringing. “You are clear to move, Mercy.”

“Copy.” Mercy stood, still clutching Angel’s mother, who was desperately trying to tear Angel’s corpse from Mercy’s grasp.

Mercy wheeled around and faced the group, ignoring the mother’s quiet sobbing. Mercy had other priorities. “Everyone move, now!” She shoved some of the group forward again, and they stumbled like they had forgotten they were still alive, that their hearts still beat. 

Mercy looked down at the woman again, sobbing quietly on the pavement, shaking like her world had ended. Mercy supposed it had. The images of her parents flashed unbidden through her head again, and she grit her teeth. 

She gripped the arm of Angel’s mother and hauled her to her feet, rushing forward through the group. Angel’s mother kicked and screamed, making even the simple task of moving forward difficult. 

“Pharah, cover us; we’re going!” Mercy huffed as she ran into the open, the group noisy and uncoordinated behind her. Angel was dead, yet her mother was a wild, ferocious thing, kicking and screaming, so full of life but begging to die. It slowed Mercy’s gait. Her pace was faltering, and she fought for every step but never stopped. She always moved forward.

\---

Mercy sighed and scrubbed her hands over her face, body and mind aching from the long, arduous day. Paperwork was spread messily over her desk and swam before her eyes. She lightly slapped her cheeks to wake herself up. 

She hadn’t had a break in hours. The rest of the team had all met her at the evac, and she’d spent the flight stabilizing those with serious injuries. She didn’t get a break once they’d landed, either. Those with non-life-threatening injuries were delegated to nurses or stuck in the waiting room while the rest were rushed to surgery or otherwise admitted. The exhaustion weighed heavily on her, but she still had a long way to go. She stared blankly at the papers in front of her, all waiting for her approval. She’d be lucky if she finished by sunrise.

She stood up, her back cracking loudly as she stretched. If she was going to be stuck here then she may as well give herself a break. She walked to the waiting room and brewed a cup of coffee, almost dropping it in surprise as she turned around.

Angel was in front of her.

Her jaw was still askew, her cheek was still a dripping horror show, her eyes were still glazed and unseeing.

Angela didn’t glare, didn’t sigh, didn’t react at all. She calmly took a sip of her coffee and walked forward through Angel and back into the med bay. She sat back down and began to fill out paperwork again. In her mind she could feel the waiting room where every ghost left in her wake came to see her open up and fill with souls. Her head was a crowded mess of pained screams, wails, and accusations. It was cacophonous. 

She paused again and sat back, rubbing her temples, like it would do anything to silence the voices. She closed her eyes and focused her breath and allowed herself to enter the room. It was an odd feeling, having so many eyes staring at her even though she knew they weren’t really there. A swift and all-encompassing silence swept over the crowd, but their voices quickly cried out again, great and many in number. Angela stared them all down, listening to the pleas, the accusations, the questions, the curses, and nodded to all of them in acknowledgment. Their voices grew louder, and the group crowded closer and closer to her, with Angel in the lead. Blood splattered the walls and the floor. It dripped from their wide gaping mouths; it flowed endlessly. 

Angela straightened herself and looked Angel directly in the eye, not flinching. 

“I don’t have time to deal with you right now. I’m working. You have to wait.” She turned away from the endless sea of faces and shut the door quietly behind her. Instantly the voices stopped. It was eerily quiet. She breathed out shakily and lightly rested her head against her desk, the papers rustling at the disturbance. 

She laid there for a few minutes, just breathing. These visits didn't affect her as badly as they had at the beginning. A long time ago, when the first visitor came, she'd been utterly devastated. It had been an older gentleman. She'd been careless, mixed up her priorities in the heat of her first battle, and turned just a moment too late. He had been the only casualty.

Nowadays, it was easier. The visits didn’t shock her, but they could still shake her. She’d learned how to deal with them, how to quiet them and move on with her day, but it was still rattling. She glanced at the clock on the wall and heaved a deep sigh; she wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight. She quickly submitted all the finished paperwork and logged off from the terminal, standing and stretching once again.

“Athena.” She walked swiftly out of the medbay and back towards the barracks. She doubted she’d be able to sleep; despite the wearniness tugging at her bones, it was always hard to sleep after a visit. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the gym. Route all messages to my personal comm for the time being, please.”

“With all due respect, Dr. Ziegler, you have been awake for approximately thirty hours now. I advise that you get some re—”

“Thank you for your concern, Athena,” Angela swiftly cut off the AI. She knew she needed to rest. She was a doctor, for Christ’s sake, but she also knew rest would do no good at the moment. “I’m fine.” 

“Understood, Dr. Ziegler.” Athena sounded put-out but conceded nonetheless.

Angela nodded and quickly made her way to her room, changing into some simple running gear before heading for the gym. Athena’s voice piped through the speakers again just before she entered the doors.

“Dr. Ziegler?” Angela paused and looked up towards the nearest camera.

“Yes, Athena?”

“Winston is still awake in his lab, also against my advisement, should you have a need for company after your run.”  
Angela smiled softly and huffed a laugh. Funny how an AI could read her better than most people. “I will take that into consideration, Athena.” She opened the door again but paused just short of entering. “Thank you.” She looked back at the camera and shot it a weary smile. 

“You’re welcome, Doctor.” 

Angela fired up the treadmill and began to run. She listened to the pounding of her feet on the belt as it raced endlessly in circles under her feet. The steady in and out of her breath and how it shook slightly on the exhale. Sweat slid down her neck, cool and tacky. 

Like blood.

Sinew, muscles, burst-open pomegranates, crushed tomatoes, operating rooms, autopsies, vacant eyes, sinew, muscles, separated breast bones, shattered breast bones, bleeding out, watching someone bleed out, crying, screaming, why, why, why, why, pavement, skinned knees, falling, tired, crushed tomatoes, muscles, tissue, sinew, teeth, scattered teeth, shattered teeth, gunshots, smile, her smile, her parents, Angel’s smile, burst-open pomegranates, sinew, tissue, muscles, shattered teeth, vacant eyes, dead, dead, dead.  _ It’s your fault, goddamn you! _

Angela lost her balance and stumbled, stopping the treadmill quickly as the echo of the voices and images bounced around her skull. Her breathing was fast and shaky, burning her throat as it rushed in and out of her chest. She raised her water bottle to her lips and choked as the water went down the wrong pipe.

Drowning, floating bodies, bloated and rotting, stench, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe.

She shook her head, trying to clear the onslaught, and stepped off the treadmill, coughing to clear her lungs. She stumbled over to one of the padded walls and collapsed against it. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as the panic began to clog her brain. A headache began to form behind her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose hard, trying to clear her head. She closed her eyes tightly. She breathed in deeply, held it, and exhaled. She repeated this for minutes, hours, she didn’t know. The next time she opened her eyes, her breathing was calm and rhythmic. Panic no longer clawed at her brain, or her body, and she couldn’t help but feel irreparably tired.

“Athena?” Her voice croaked, raw and sore. “How long was I—”

“Fifteen minutes, Dr. Ziegler.” 

“Fuck.”

Athena hummed in acknowledgement. 

Angela slid fully off the wall until she was laying completely on the floor. This was the longest one she’d had in ages. A monumental setback. She’d been handling them for years now and hadn’t had an attack like this in over five. She allowed herself to sink into bitterness for just a moment, before realizing how childish it was. What did she have to be bitter about? A child was dead; a mother was daughterless. She was merely a bystander to their tragedy. 

Part of her knew that it was okay to feel like this. Natural even, given the number of studies proclaiming the effects of prolonged trauma on the brain. Her mind buzzed with techniques from past therapists, comforts from fellow soldiers, encouragement from mentors. She scrubbed her hands over her eyes; she was tired, so horribly tired. 

She kept trying, though, kept moving forward, kept desperately trying to save lives even though it was so damn hard. Even though some days it felt like she was just going through the motions, she kept moving. Any situation could be changed through enough hard work and determination to move forward.

She glanced at the clock on the wall; its digital readout informed her it was only one in the morning. There were eons of the night to go, and given the persistent waking nightmares, sleep would only offer her more of the same.

“Athena?” 

“Yes, Dr. Ziegler?”

“Is Winston still awake?”

“Yes he is, should I warn him to hide his peanut butter stash?”

Angela couldn’t help the small laugh that bounced out of her chest. “No.” She smiled. “I won’t say anything as long as he puts on something truly awful to watch and doesn’t talk to me about work for the next six hours.”

Athena chimed in a way Angela knew meant she was transmitting a message. “Winston says he has just the thing.”

Angela smiled softly. “Perfect. I’m on my way.”

“Understood. Have a good night with Winston, Dr. Ziegler.”

“I will do my best, Athena.”

That’s all she could do. Her best. Her best was not always good enough, but she had saved countless lives with it and would save countless more. She knew she would always be haunted by those she’d lost, but that was natural, normal even. It made her push herself harder, faster, stronger, and further. She was moving forward, unsteadily and slowly at times, but ever forward. She would always move forward.

**Author's Note:**

> The zine has been out for a while I just totally forgot to post this lol.


End file.
